As some of you may know, I chose to extend my stay in San Diego this winter to help a friend through the initial stages of grief after the loss of her husband and love in early December.

From childhood to adulthood, we are taught about life. We go to school to learn how to succeed and become fully functioning adults in what is sometimes a crazy yet wonderful world. I was taught by parents, peers, teachers, the church, animals, and more. And succeed, I did.

This world does not teach us about fear, loss, and change. It doesn’t teach us about grief and its impact on the individual. When it appears in our lives, we must learn on the fly, struggling to stay upright and functioning while dealing with emotional blow after blow.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be death. It can appear in many guises: divorce, loss of a job, or a move to another area of the country away from family, friends, and support. Try the diagnosis of cancer. I have been there twice. It can be something catastrophic like 9/11 or a tornado, hurricane, or any other natural disaster. No one event, small or large, defines grief.

Losing a partner is grief like no other. Everything I expected for the rest of my life came to a halt. Where was Jim? He was supposed to be next to me until we got old. What was I supposed to do with my life now? How could I recreate myself again while I was dealing with such profound loss? And….where was Jim, someone who made me feel unique, worthy, beautiful, and so much more?

If we survive long enough, we all will meet up with grief and loss and the emotional storm it creates in each one of us.

Everyone handles grief differently, every single person. Grief is a personal journey. Some will tackle it by planning and proceeding like nothing has happened. Others need time to cry, feel sad, and separate from the rest of the world. Others will retreat inside, feeling safe in the memories and loss. And many of us are somewhere in the above mix.

Grief has been the most potent teacher I have ever had. It has woken me up and shut me down. How can that happen at the same time? I don’t know. It has allowed me to be in the moment, not see the future or the past. Being present in the moment is something I tried to achieve in my every day life, yet I never truly discovered it until the last days of Jim’s life and his death. All of it made me feel more alive than I have ever felt. How could that be when I was watching my Jim move through the last moments of his life? How could that be when I was going through some of the worst times of my life? I honestly don’t know.

How does one go about supporting others through grief? It is hard to tackle when we know little about the heart’s workings. We see our friends or family members struggling, which is sometimes hard to understand. Why doesn’t she want to go out with her friends? Why is she still crying? Why is she not able to get on with life? It has been three months, a year, or more. Why isn’t she back to “normal.” Why, why, why? There is no timeline, and there is no “normal.”

I struggle to figure out what normal is now. I am eleven years out from the loss of Jim, and mostly, I am doing fine, yet every once in a while, something triggers my grief, and it might as well have happened yesterday. Go figure.

I have read a lot about grief. I have listened to podcasts about grief. I can suggest this podcast, All There Is, by Anderson Cooper. I have written about grief. I am still learning about grief. This will continue until the day I decide to step on over.

Being here for my friend has been a good teacher for me. I believe all any of us can do is support each other in this wild world. How can we support someone grieving, especially in the first year?

• Be patient and be kind.
• Don’t expect the person grieving to reach out to you to thank you for cards or plan to get together. Grief is so overwhelming that it is hard to plan.
• Know that the person in grief may tire easily. There is so much to do physically in those first months. Lawyers, banks, insurance, and all that business stuff. Each task, no matter how small, can be overwhelming. I found I had little to no emotional reserves. One or two tasks would wear me out, and I would return home to watch mindless television, nap, or stare at the wall.
• Call and let the person dealing with grief talk. Who cares if you hear the same stories more than once. Your ears are helping the other person to heal and not feel alone.

• Everyone is on board for the first few months and tries their best to stay in touch, and then it peters off. Four months, six months, or a year out, a person dealing with loss can feel overwhelmingly alone. So stay in touch. I put send a card or call a person reminders on my calendar. It reminds me to think of others. And I love to send cards. It also gives me moments to think of my friends and ensure I continue reaching out. After all, all we have is each other.
• Even if they say no, invite them to events and things you would usually invite them to. Knowing that the real world is waiting for them to rejoin it is a good reminder in the midst of grieving.. Don’t be offended or take it personally if they say no.
• Sometimes, one-on-one time is better than a group, no matter how small. I still prefer small groups to large crowds. I have trained myself to enter larger groups now that I have been alone for so long.
• Don’t expect the person to “talk about loss.” Sometimes, a person needs to go out for coffee or a walk on the beach and talk about the rest of the world. I enjoyed my friend Therese coming over with a Scrabble game and food and enjoying an afternoon on the back deck.
• Know when enough is enough and take them home so they can nap.
• Don’t be offended if your invitation is turned down. Know that that moment was not the right one. Internally, they appreciate your effort. And try again and again.
  • Continue to ask them what you can do for them and follow through. Always follow through.

This list could be longer, but I think you get the idea. The more you love someone in distress, the more you are inviting them to remember to come back out into the world when they are ready. Most importantly, it reminds them they are loved, worthy, and not alone.

Today, I am thankful. I am thankful for the opportunity my friend has given me to learn, grow, and become more human. Today, I am thankful she doesn’t have to be alone in these first months. Today, I am thankful for growing a friendship that I hope will continue for a long time to come. Today, I am thankful that grief has been a teacher of mine, even if I don’t want it to be present in my life.

Today, I am thankful.